Fuck My Life, the temperature’s dropped, try driving in fog when your vision is cropped. Ten meters or so and your vision is done, but press the loud pedal and with speed it’s more fun!
The click of the heating thaws out that chilled air, condensation still lingers the frost is out there. White pavements announce compensation for falls, with hats and with gloves and with scarves and with shawls.
A gentle toe tap on a once liquid lake, expectations are high as the first steps you take. The ice doesn’t crack so with gusto you slide, with a whoop and a cheer you return to your side.
But it’s not snowing yet there’s no clouds in the sky,’ it’s too cold for that’ all the old folks will cry. So wrap yourself well and don’t stay out too long, (I’ve got heated seats, al the old folk are wrong!
So with warm air surrounding my once frozen feet, and with fog lights a shining back down the Main Street. My visions curtailed about twelve feet away, I think I’ll slow down and let’s get home today.